A post of mice and men

[approximately 1:43am BST]

S: What was that?
D: *Hmmmfff*… *snore* … *snore* zzzzzz
S: [a little louder] Huh?
D: [after a long intake of breath] Hmmmm? Go… to… slee… *snore*

[The next day, approximately 1:44am BST]

S: What was that?
D: *Hmmmfff*… *snore* … *snore* zzzzzz
s: [Shakes D vigorously] There’s something up there

It’s amazing at times how quickly the human body can bring itself online. I mean, Bill Gates has earnt a handsome penny from machines which take anything up to 5 minutes to go from being a lump of plastic to a state of alert readiness for human input. I mean, that’s not to say God hasn’t earnt a certain amount of kudos and respect or anything. But I guess the amoebas need a bit of a ‘big-up’ if you’re an atheist.

So here I am, at an hour reserved purely for those with a need for a shipping forecast, ready to take on the world. And it appears this is going to be a useful attribute, seeing as how there appears to be some kind of dinosaur running around above my head. Or perhaps a tap-dancing hippopotamus. Yes, twin tap-dancing hippopotamii.

I am of course over-exaggerating the size of the problem. In reality it’s just a small troupe of animals putting on an off-broadway outing of Riverdance in our loft. There’s clearly a whiskered Michael Flatley at work up their, but quite why they’ve chosen to wear clogs and build a set using pneumatic drills has yet to become clear. I’m blaming some thick-rimmed spectacle wearing New Yorker director mous with aspirations to be the next Tarentino.

At 1:44 I am ready to take to the loft with a bat-belt style armoury of a hammer and slipper, but by 1:47 I’m unfolding the sofa bed and sleeping downstairs.

I want to be an animal person, but sadly it’s in pretty much the same was I want to be an astronaut – it’s a nice idea, but unless around 99% of the world’s population all enter some kind of internet-allergy related coma it’s unlikely to get far up my to-do list.

I remember as a child being in awe of my grandad holding a blackbird in his hands trying to help with a broken wing and I’ve had plenty of pets, but sadly I’m better at interacting with them in a culinary rather than the ‘wild’ setting. That’s animals in general, you understand, not some bunny-boiling pet type thing.

That’s not to say I don’t have respect for our animal brothers – I’ve just handed over the deeds to the upstairs of my house to them.

I did put my head into the loft the next day, but I couldn’t help feeling I had become the mouse, poking my head through a small hole checking for foes.

So I need to come to some kind of understanding with our newfound lodgers. I’m a rational man, and I have the advantage of having seen both Stuart Little and it’s sequel. I’m prepared to offer regular cheese portions in exchange for the adoption of some kind of curfew or change from a nocturnal to a daytime existence. I know you’re just trying to ‘work up a stake’ but, you know, ‘best laid plans’ and all that…

So if you happen to be reading my blog during a break from those intensive rehearsals of celtic Riverdancing Milton Mouse, please let me if we have a deal… just wait until after sunrise tonight and we’ll have an understanding, yes?